Don't Overthink It
by yellowchikadee
Summary: A Valentine's Day special Lahar x Doranbolt one-shot! It's just an arbitrary holiday with arbitrary customs, but perhaps for two old friends... it's a little bit more.


The Magic Council headquarters was running amok, per the usual. Froglits ran back and forth in the halls, delivering messages, carrying stacks of papers, checking their watches, scampering after Council members… There had already been two meetings of the Grand Council Court and it wasn't even nine AM.

Currently, the Division Commander of the 4th Custody Enforcement Unit was working diligently at his desk, with twelve stacks of papers and folders laying in front of him. He rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, causing his glasses to raise off the bridge of his nose. He'd been in the office since three that morning, after a late day yesterday—so he was running on, at best, four hours of sleep.

There was a knock on the office door.

"I've already told you, Serena, I don't have time to discuss the prison renovations today," Lahar said, without glancing up from the form in front of him. "I am currently dealing with issues on the field which have priority."

"Good morning to you too," came a voice that was _not_ the froglit Serena.

"Ah, Doranbolt." Lahar glanced up, but only briefly, to acknowledge his peer. "My apologies."

Doranbolt strode forward and slid some folders aside to make room on the desk for the coffee mug he placed in front of Lahar.

"No, thank you," Lahar said reflexively, without glancing at the offering. "You know as well as I that caffeine unsettles my stomach."

"It's decaf," Doranbolt countered. "It's really just something warm to help keep you awake."

"Tea would have sufficed."

"Someone's testy today." Doranbolt smirked. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched Lahar work, noting how frequently he lifted a hand to rub his eyes. "You should take a break."

"Impossible," Lahar snapped. "These reports are not going to write themselves. In fact, it would do you well to fill out the annual counts for your division as well, Doranbolt, seeing as the deadline for submitting them is less than a week away." He finally did look up, with a patronizing look in his amethyst eyes.

"I will," came the reply. "But not until I can convince you to step away from your desk for some fresh air. You'd work yourself to death if I let you."

Lahar pinched his eyebrows in irritation. He straightened his posture in the chair and stared at Doranbolt's unrelenting expression. He gave a heavy sigh and put his palms on the desk before pushing himself to his feet.

"Fifteen minutes," Lahar said flatly.

"An hour," Doranbolt said.

"I cannot afford to spend an hour away from—"

Doranbolt raised his scarred eyebrow.

"You do not intend to yield, do you?" Lahar's eyes softened, the corner of his lip twitched in the shadow of a smile.

"What do you think?" Hard emerald eyes, crossed arms, and a scowl gave all the answer he needed.

"Very well, Doranbolt. An hour." He did smile now, finally stepping out from behind his desk. "In which case, I would very much like to go get breakfast."

"I figured as much." Doranbolt led the way out the door. "Did you even eat dinner last night?"

"Perhaps. I cannot seem to remember."

They walked side by side along the corridors of the massive building. Froglits scurried past them, a few of them stopping as if to say something, before Doranbolt would raise a gloved hand to stop them before they could start. Their lips would clamp shut and they would go back to work.

The walk was made particularly long because any time they passed a rune knight, they had to pause so that the knight could salute them, they could salute in return before continuing on. This was all a part of the formalities that came with being commanders of knight divisions. Rank meant everything.

"Maybe we should change out of uniform," Doranbolt pondered out loud. "This is getting annoying."

"I have no intention of wasting even more time changing," Lahar said immediately.

"It was just a thought," Doranbolt said, with an amused smile.

"An irrational thought."

They escaped relatively easily from the building, and took to the streets of the city. Lahar obsessively checked his watch every few moments, as if he were just willing for time to move faster.

"I'm offended," Doranbolt said as they walked. "Here I thought we were friends."

"Don't be dramatic," Lahar rolled his eyes. "It's not that I don't enjoy spending time with you, Doranbolt—this is simply time that I do not have."

"You could try making time for once."

Their responses to each other were immediate, like lines that had been practiced, showing how often they engaged in this sort of back and forth banter.

Lahar chuckled silently, but stopped looking at his watch. Instead, he began to take in the sights around him, scanning the activity in the streets. He frowned as he began to notice a strange pattern…

A vendor on the corner was selling pink, heart-shaped balloons. Another was selling heart-shaped boxes of chocolate. Women and men were walking arm in arm, carrying pink stuffed animals, pink balloons, pink heart boxes… It was a sea of shades of pink.

"What on earthland is happening today?" he asked, as he watched a balloon drift into the sky.

"You don't know?" Doranbolt laughed. "It's Valentine's Day, Lahar. Don't you have a calendar in that stuffy office of yours?"

"Yes, of course," he snapped back. "But it is void of arbitrary holidays like this."

"Arbitrary?" Doranbolt chuckled. "I guess you're not wrong. But come on," he outspread his arms, gesturing at the world around them. "It's not that bad, is it? So what if people express how much they care about each other today?"

Lahar's permanent scowl did not falter. "As I said, it's an arbitrary holiday. One that lacks purpose or reason for anyone who is not currently in a relationship, or who is secure enough in their relationship to rely on a holiday to dote upon their partner for once."

Doranbolt's amusement continued to rise. "You've thought a lot about this, I see." He scratched his goatee in thought. "Jilted by an ex-lover on a Valentine's Day past?"

"My personal relationships, or lack thereof, have nothing to do with it." The slight coloring to his cheeks disagreed.

Still, Doranbolt backed off of the harassment. As much as he liked to get reactions out of the usually stoic Lahar, he didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

They continued to walk, their steps naturally leading them to a diner they frequented in their younger days as soldiers. They walked in comfortable silence. Such was the way between the two of them. They were accustomed to each other's presence enough to be able to sit for hours in silence together, or in this case, to walk peacefully through the bustling city without conversation.

Doranbolt's eyes wandered to a market stand to his left, where a young girl was placing coins on the counter to buy a blue flower. She was no more than thirteen, with blonde hair and overly large brown eyes. He watched her for a long moment, as she happily skipped through the crowd to her unknown destination, blue flower in tow.

He was completely unaware of Lahar's purple eyes drilling into him as he watched the girl disappear. Not until the girl was gone and he glanced to his right, immediately caught in the other man's gaze.

"Something is troubling you," Lahar remarked, stating a fact rather than asking if he was alright.

"Don't worry about it." He put his hands in his pockets and looked away, though he couldn't hide the droop in his features.

"You're thinking about Wendy Marvel again." Again, it was a statement.

With anyone else, he would have vehemently denied it. But Lahar knew him better than anyone. In fact, it was Lahar who shook him out of a drunken stupor in a bar over the guilt of killing the girl. He already knew how Doranbolt felt. More importantly, Lahar was safe to talk to about it. He trusted him.

"You know how it is," he sighed, dragging his boots a bit. "I just… wonder if she's happy."

"There is no doubt," Lahar said confidently. He was smiling compassionately at his friend. "She spends her time in the company of Fairy Tail, mind you. It would be impossible to be unhappy around that lot."

A smile tugged at the corner of his lip. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I shouldn't even be worried."

They took a few more steps.

"Hey, Lahar?"

"Yes, Doranbolt?"

"Do you… think I'm…" He didn't even know how to finish the question. He had no idea what word fit here.

"I do not think there is anything wrong with you, if that's what you're asking." The long-haired man pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before continuing. "Your feelings for Miss Marvel are to be expected—in fact I find them completely natural. It's basic biological programming that we are driven to protect the young and innocent, both categories of which she falls into. Your attachment is deepened psychologically by the guilt of what happened on Tenrou Island, even though that situation resolved itself."

"Yeah…" Relief began to wash over him. "I guess you're right."

"You're not sexually attracted to her, are you?"

"What?!" Doranbolt made a face of shock and disgust. "No! It's not like that! I have strong feelings for her, but not… I mean, if she were older, but she's not. I want to protect her innocence not take it away from her!" He tugged on his earring. "I won't deny that my emotions are confusing, but I can, beyond a shadow of a doubt, say that I'd never want _that_ from Wendy."

Lahar was smiling. "I never doubted you for a moment, friend." He put his hand on Doranbolt's shoulder. "Now will you please stop internally questioning your own motives?"

"I…" Doranbolt's eyes were wide with shock. He chuckled and relaxed finally. "Okay. Thanks, Lahar. For always keeping me in check."

"No one else is going to do it," he huffed in response.

"No one else _can_!"

"As it should be," Lahar gently replied. The change in tone took Doranbolt by surprise, but when he glanced at Lahar, the other man was looking away.

His hand remained on Doranbolt's shoulder as they walked into the diner.

They ordered breakfast and ate together, casually discussing some of the latest council news and scandals. Then Doranbolt asked one question about the paperwork Lahar was working on, and leaned back to enjoy the rant. As expected, Lahar rambled on passionately about the failure on the part of the messengers to transfer documents in a timely manner—about how much he despised politics and felt he dealt with them far too much as an enforcement commander—about the incompetence of some of his underlings in carrying out raids in the south to procure illegal magical equipment from an independent guild operating there. On and on and on.

Doranbolt just sat back and listened. He watched the fire burning passionately in those amethyst eyes, and the way his glasses would slowly slip down to the tip of his nose every few minutes, forcing him to push them back up (he really needed to get them adjusted, like Doranbolt told him months ago). The range of emotions from irritation to amusement that played out on his thin lips, the way he occasionally had to flick his bangs out of his eyes. His expressive hand gestures as he acted out his frustrations. Doranbolt wasn't even listening to the rant—he was too busy enjoying the simple sight of his best friend venting to him.

"…And _that_ is why Serena should never have been tasked with working in the dungeons in the first place!" Lahar finished whatever it was he'd been on about. He crossed his arms over his chest, signaling to Doranbolt that he was done talking. "Well? What are you staring at? You haven't said a single word."

"Yeah, sorry about that." He scratched the back of his head, sheepishly. "I like hearing the sound of your voice, I guess."

This was clearly _not_ what Lahar was expecting him to say. His eyelashes fluttered in surprise, and red stained his high cheekbones. He cleared his throat awkwardly. He opened his mouth to say something, inevitably which would end their time together. Before he could speak, however, Doranbolt had leaned forward and cut him off.

"I know you're not a fan of this _arbitrary_ holiday, but…" He reached under his cloak and into a side pocket. Lahar raised an eyebrow in suspicion. "It's a day about showing the people you care about that you care, and I care about you a lot, so…" He presented a cliché heart-shaped box of chocolates.

"Doranbolt, I…" Lahar's blush deepened.

"I know how much you secretly love sweets," Doranbolt smirked. "You can add that to your stash."

"This is…" Lahar swallowed nervously as he received the gift from Doranbolt. He scanned the other man's face, emerald eyes, x-shaped scar, satisfied smile.

"Don't overthink it, buddy." Doranbolt rested his hand on Lahar's, briefly.

"I'm ashamed…" Lahar stared at the proffered gift as if it were diamonds. "I didn't get you anything."

"How could you?" Doranbolt laughed. "You didn't even know it was Valentine's Day until this morning."

"Still… As is custom, I must return the favor somehow."

"I said don't overthink it." Doranbolt stood and stretched. "It's been an hour. We should get you back to your paperwork."

"Just a minute, Doranbolt." Lahar folded his hands on the table. "Please, sit back down."

It was Doranbolt's turn to be surprised now. He cautiously sat back down in his seat and looked across the table at his dearest comrade.

"Allow me to return the favor."

"It's no use," he shrugged. "I don't like chocolate."

"I'm not talking about chocolate." Lahar's gaze was deep and serious, and his cheeks seemed to be permanently stained red. "Would you be opposed to going out with me this evening?"

He blinked, uncomprehending. "Out?"

"Yes…" Lahar kept his gaze, though it was clear he was embarrassed. "Out. As in, on a date, with romantic connotation."

Doranbolt gulped, instinctively glancing around the room to see if any rune knights were there to overhear this conversation.

"I will not be offended if you decline," he added. "After all, one can hardly control sexual preference, be it a preference for gender, or for age…" His eyes twinkled at the unspoken Wendy joke here.

"Very funny," Doranbolt deadpanned.

"All jokes aside," he clasped his hands in his lap. "My request is sincere. I would like to spend time with you tonight, after I've finished some tasks and changed, of course."

"…Yeah." Doranbolt nodded after a long moment. "Yeah, I'd like that too."

"Excellent." Now Lahar stood up. "Then let us return to headquarters."

* * *

Doranbolt stared at his reflection in the full-length mirror. It was mid-afternoon and he had showered and changed out of his uniform. Simple black, button-down shirt and jeans. Couldn't go wrong with that… right?

"Look at me," he hissed in embarrassed irritation as he combed his hair. "I'm acting like a love-struck teenaged girl."

Seriously, what was _wrong_ with him? He and Lahar had known each other for years. They'd been through more together than most. They were comrades, peers, best friends. They relied on one another—needed one another. Lahar was the icy logic, Doranbolt the impassioned free-spirit. They complimented each other perfectly. It wasn't as if they hadn't spent a thousand nights doing the exact same things they would end up doing tonight.

But tonight they'd be doing those things with an _entirely_ different context than before.

He eyed the bottle of cologne on the counter. Would that be too much? Too obvious? He didn't want to seem desperate… Oh, who was he kidding? He'd been passively attracted to Lahar for years, he just never thought he'd do anything about it. It was easier to remain comrades-in-arms. Plus, as a general rule of thumb, everyone always assumed Doranbolt was either straight or a pedophile—most never stopped to consider that he'd be serious about his peer. In fact, _he'd_ always tried to avoid considering being serious about Lahar.

And now here he was, dabbing on cologne and scowling at his reflected blush in the mirror.

 _What if this is a bad idea? I mean, what if this date leads to another date and then another, and then we get into some lover's spat down the line and it totally ruins the division? No… Lahar's way too logical. He'd never let something like that happen. But if anything ever happened to our friendship… Damn, I don't think I could function without him. He's my voice of reason. He's the only reason I'm even here right now… I sound like a sappy romance novel, seriously what is_ wrong _with me?_

There was a brisk knock on his door.

 _Oh my god, is it time already?_

He checked his reflection one more time, opted for undoing one more top button of his shirt, then answered the door.

There stood Lahar. Great minds think alike (or perhaps just minds that have spent years familiarizing themselves with each other) because he too had chosen a simple button-down shirt and slacks. For a change of pace, his hair wasn't clipped up. It hung loosely like a waterfall of black down his back and chest.

"Are you ready?" he asked. "I've chosen the venue for us."

"Uh… yeah." Was he ready? He wasn't so sure. In fact, he might just abort mission…

"Doranbolt," Lahar snapped his fingers right in front of his face. "To quote a friend of mine, 'don't overthink it.'"

"Yeah, I just…" He couldn't meet those purple eyes.

"I was thinking we'd go bowling." He smiled warmly at him.

"Bowling?" A wave of relief crashed down on him. They went bowling all the time. "All the time" meaning, all the time when they were lower-ranking soldiers, and occasionally when they had time these days.

"Yes, Doranbolt. Bowling." Lahar's eyes twinkled in amusement. "Did you think I'd take you to the opera? A beach-side resort?" His tone was teasing. It made Doranbolt's face flush with heat.

"Listen," Lahar continued, softer this time. "It's still you and I. Nothing has changed. There's no need to overcomplicate this."

"Yeah, easy for you to say." He pushed past him and locked the door behind them. "I can't remember the last time I went on a date with anyone."

"I am not 'anyone.' I am Lahar."

They locked gazes. Doranbolt gave a quiet chuckle.

"You're right. You're Lahar, the guy who still can't beat me in a game of bowling."

"We will see about that."

"You bet we will!"

The awkwardness faded, replaced with more familiar feelings. Competitiveness, teasing, fun, friendship.

 _Don't overthink it._

* * *

The sun was setting beyond the city. It had already dipped below the horizon, though the color-swirled sky reminisced on its presence. Two high-ranking rune knight soldiers sat side-by-side on a bench overlooking the city, their eyes fixed on the serene setting. Amethyst and emerald reflecting red hues of the sky.

"You got lucky," Doranbolt repeated, for the fifth time. He was leaned back, scratching his goatee, smiling at the fresh memory of their 'date.'

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Lahar countered. He was cleaning his glasses on his shirt, and sharing a similar grin to his partner's. "Just admit that I destroyed you."

"No way. I was just rusty. I haven't played for a while."

"The last time I played was with you, friend."

They shared in a moment of laughter. Doranbolt dared a glance at the other man. For a moment, he was stunned. Lahar was nothing short of breathtaking in this light, with burning purple eyes, the breeze tousling black bangs, his glasses in his hands, fully revealing the sharp shape of his eyes—his lips parted to breathe in the evening air—white shirt tight enough to outline the trained muscles of his arms and torso…

He put his glasses back on and reached into his pocket. He retrieved a small box, then held it out to him.

"A Valentine's Day gift from me."

"Lahar, you didn't have to," Doranbolt complained. "And I already said I don't like chocolate."

"You're in luck. It is not chocolate. And of course I had to. Is it not custom for lovers to exchange gifts on this arbitrary holiday?"

Doranbolt felt some heat. He took the box. "We're not lovers," he pointed out. "This is technically our first date, so customs don't count."

"Arbitrary holiday, arbitrary customs." Lahar's eyes twinkled.

"Whatever you say, Lahar." He rolled his eyes but smiled as he opened the box. He appraised the item with an impressed expression. "This is a nice watch!"

"Perhaps it will help keep you in check when I am not around to do so," Lahar's voice was chiding. "It may even help you to turn in your paperwork on time from now on."

"Practical as ever, I see." He laughed out loud and began trying to strap the watch to his wrist.

"Please, allow me to assist you." Lahar reached out and took his hand. An unwarranted tremble went through Doranbolt's body at the touch. He cleared his throat and looked away as Lahar delicately clasped the watch. He did not remove his fingers from Doranbolt's arm, however. He rested his hand, lithe fingers casually draped there.

They sat like this as the sky took on its darker shade.

"Lahar…" Doranbolt cleared his throat once more. He forced himself to look at the other man, to meet his eyes.

"Yes? What is it, friend?" Concern flashed in his eyes as Doranbolt's serious tone.

"I just wanted to say…" he sighed, then gave a small smile. "Thank you. For everything. Seriously, I… If it weren't for you Lahar, I wouldn't be here. I'd be passed out drunk or dead somewhere for all I know. You… you've always believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself. And you never took any of my shit. You always set me straight. Lahar, man…" His eyes flicked back and forth between those sparkling amethysts. "I'd be lost without you."

Lahar might have blushed, but it was beginning to be difficult to tell in the waning light. He couldn't mistake the fond smile that touched the other man's lips, though.

"You give me too much credit, Doranbolt. I've only ever been a catalyst for what was already inherently yours. Bravery, passion, determination. I did not give you those things. You had them all along." He squeezed Doranbolt's arm. "But for what it is worth, I am glad to have had any part in your reformation into the man you are today."

There was a pricking in Doranbolt's eyes, as tears threatened to form. He blinked a few times to clear them away. Then, he checked the face of his new watch.

"We should probably call it a day. I'm sure you want to get back to your forms."

"Yes, I certainly should." Lahar nodded in agreement. "Then I am to assume this date is over?"

"Basically," Doranbolt shrugged, still a bit uncomfortable with it being referred to overtly as a 'date.'

"In that case, there is but one more custom I must acknowledge before we walk back."

Doranbolt raised his scarred eyebrow in suspicion.

Without warning, Lahar leaned forward. Doranbolt's whole body stiffened at the motion. He went wide eyed as the other man's lips found his skin. He was too stunned to do anything more than gasp as Lahar planted a chaste kiss on his forehead.

"What the hell, Lahar?" His face was beet red with embarrassment.

"It is custom that, after a successful date, the woman bestows a kiss upon her partner as a sign that she is pleased with the outcome of the night." Lahar explained, totally nonchalantly.

"Where do you get this stuff?!" he swallowed hard. "Have you been reading Cosmos-politan again? You know that stuff isn't even real, right?"

"It seems to have had the desired effect," Lahar countered with a devious smile, his glasses catching light. "It's turned you into a useless puddle of goo."

"I'm not a useless puddle of goo!" Doranbolt huffed. "And besides, by that logic, you're admitting to being the woman in this relationship."

"In this moment, yes. I assure you, however, I _can_ be quite manly." The devious gleam of the glasses again.

Doranbolt couldn't help it. He laughed out loud. "Cheeky bastard." He stood up and offered Lahar his hand. The other man took it and stood to join him. He threw his arm around Lahar's shoulder, nearly knocking the glasses off of his face. He then ruffled Lahar's long hair and laughed at the instantly pissed off expression that settled on his friend's face.

"Sorry, I couldn't help it."

"I will let you live, just this once."

They walked back to the magic council headquarters together. Doranbolt kept his arm around Lahar's shoulder, and Lahar _might_ have leaned just a bit against him as they walked. Neither one second-guessed it. As it had been reiterated time and again on this arbitrary holiday, they refused to overthink it.


End file.
